


The Loss

by Namesonboats (Viken2592)



Series: Paths [1]
Category: Star Wars: Jedi: Fallen Order (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Depression, Everyone Needs A Hug, Gen, Past Violence, Survivor Guilt, pre-game
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-07
Updated: 2020-12-07
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:34:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27939758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Viken2592/pseuds/Namesonboats
Summary: Survival comes with a cost.
Series: Paths [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2045972
Comments: 10
Kudos: 30





	The Loss

Be silent. Have trust.  
Our being is creation.  
We are in a deep league  
with that which wants to be.

\- Karin Boye

Two years after her Sisters' deaths, Merrin wakes up to a series of distant, bumping sounds. She pulls the cover from her body and sits on her make-shift bed.

Winter has descended upon the planet. Glistening icicles stretch their fingers towards the ground by the opening of her cave, and the outside sky moves in billowing shawls of light.

Shivering, she leaves the outcrop in the cliffs and follows the trail of strange noises. Her boots crack open small pools of ice and brush against ice-laced fern. When she reaches the edge of the forest, she halts on the spot.

Dying Veeka chicks tumbles to the ground from the naked branches of the trees. Like frozen pine cones, their bodies thud against the soil and sends echoes into the early morning air.

During the warm season, when Merrin meandered the swamps alone like a living dead, she observed the Veekas - how they built their nests, incubated their eggs, and cared for their young. She followed their hunt for insects and worms in the red soil of Dathomir.

At the crisp thud of another chick falling, Merrin closes her eyes and murmurs an incantation not used since Grandmother Daka. Her fingers flex around her bone talisman; green swirls ooze from her palms.

Dathomir holds its breath. The fern glitters in a faint gust of wind.

The fallen chicks open their eyes, unseeing. 

Merrin stops her incantation. Her skin breaks out in goosebumps.

One of the chicks flaps its wings and lifts to the sky. Mid-air, it propels through the frigid air towards Merrin, bumps into her head, and opens a wound above her hairline with its sharp beak. A flow of blood warms her scalp before it freezes; Merrin shivers and backs away.

More birds rise to the sky. Merrin runs. By the cliffs, she stops. Her heart hammers in her chest and the remnants of the incantation courses through her veins.

The sound of a voice prompts her to turn. It is a brother, standing on the opposite cliff covered in fur and his head crested by a row of horns. He stares at her in awe and gives a signal. His brothers emerge behind the cliffs, a band of hunters. They approach in silence. The leader of the brothers gets down on one knee by her feet and bows his head.

“Sister,” he says. His breath whisks like smoke.

Merrin lifts her chin and observes the brother. Without a word, she nods.

It was time to stop hiding and lead the brothers towards the path of revenge.

As their spiritual leader, Merrin performs rituals to strengthen the brothers’ resolve before a hunt, prepares antidotes to the bone back spider venom, and cites incantations to ignite their energy bows. She often retreats to the Tomb of Kujet where she places the book of Shadows and practices her reanimation spells, first on beetles and ants, then on snakes, fish, and Veekas. The brothers ask her for more guidance, and when they ask again, she tells them to shave their eyebrows and holler at the full moon.

A voice inside her whispers of how the remaining brothers were children during the massacre, like her. How they hid and fled not to die, like her.

Survival is the greatest sin.

Malicos’ arrival is a disturbance to her universe. His seeping impact on the brothers is a simultaneous relief and a growing unease. Through him, she learns the name of the Nightsisters bane, the Jedi. The path of revenge will go through him, he says - if she gives him what he wants. She dreams of burying him in the depths of the swamp, but her desire for revenge is stronger than her wish to kill.

Outside the tomb of Kujet, Merrin one day reanimates a Nydak alfa. At the sight of its trashing body, she clenches her bone talisman in her palm until the jagged end breaks through her skin. When the Jedi returns, she will be ready.

Four years after the massacre, Merrin approaches the mountain where the Nightsisters lair once lay. The wind echoes in the hollows and whistles in carcasses of broken battle droids. Instead of breaching the lair entrance, she takes a left turn and rounds the mountain to seek the swamp beyond. The trees glisten from moist, and the croaks of amphibians follow her steps.

A series of pods hang in the branches like strange fruit. The heavy drops are enclosed in a mix of cloth and leaf fibers and strung up by ropes covered in moss.

She has marked the most important of the pods. It is one of the smallest.

Unknowing of the tear that traces a streak on her face, she puts her hand on the pod and caresses the meaty outer layer. She attempts to sing as her Sister sang, but the words come out stuttering from her shallow breath.

Survival is the hardest duty.

Merrin sinks to her knees. She buries her face in her palms and cries.

* * *

Arms outstretched, Cal Kestis carefully traipses the metal beam that extends over the insides of a Star Destroyer the guild is tearing apart for Kevlex and Composisteel. The rapid clinks of his steps disappear into the ship's empty hull, scrapped for parts ready to feed another of the Empire’s war machines. Cal’s nose bristles from the scent of singed Durasteel and scrap rat.

“Hi, Cal!”

Jordmadi, known to everyone in the guild as Jordi, switches off her fusion cutter and raises her goggles to her forehead with a smile. Cal greets her in return.

“Cal, over here!”

Prauf waves from a platform below. His coveralls are covered in smudge.

“Be right there!”

Cal drops to grab the beam with his hands before he lands on his feet by Prauf.

“Great work today.” Prauf smiles. The meaty extensions by his mouth quiver. “We’ve earned a good meal.”

Cal huffs through a lopsided smile.

“When was the food here ever good?”

Prauf chuckles but darts a glance to the left and right. Criticizing the meals is an offense that can get them penalized. Ever since the Empire took over production on Bracca, the workers and engineers were kept in a tight grip; still, they take every chance they have to roast the new rule. It was their only means of resistance.

A blaring alarm sounds; Prauf and Cal halt on the spot. Red lights pulsate above. Several scrappers from the guild rush past.

“What’s going on?” Prauf shouts after them.

“It’s Tabbers! He’s in the turbine hall - something’s happened!”

Cal and Prauf share a distressed look. Before the Empire took over, worker accidents were unusual on Bracca. These days, the alarms' blaring were heard at least once or twice per month. They follow the other scrappers and jog towards the metal grid that separates the hull from the turbine hall. A crowd has settled. The engineers crane their necks to get a better look and whisper to not upset a security droid that asks them to remain calm.

Jordi’s taken a shortcut and stands by the edge of the crowd, chewing her fingernails in worry.

Prauf pushes his way to her.

“Have you seen him? Is he ok?”

Jordi indicates with a nudge to her chin.

“See for yourself. It doesn’t look good.”

Cal and Prauf stretch their necks to peer beyond the grid. Below, a broken turbine ring has separated from the tubes and teeters on broken hinges. Tabbers is in the ring, hugging the metal cover with all his might. His face is pale like an Umbaran. A rescue team is working to open a slit into the grid, sparks flying from their welding gear.

“They’re never going to make it,” Cal says, shifting from foot to foot.

Prauf shakes his head.

“Let them do their job. We mustn’t lose hope.”

His expression says otherwise. Only a standard week ago, they lost an engineer to a malfunctioning tow ship that hurtled into the maw of the great Sarlacc scrap eater.

Something inside Cal rises like a pressure that threatens to burst. He pushes his way through the crowd and balances onto the make-shift platform where the rescue team tries to get their way inside.

“I can get through. Let me help.”

The rescue worker doesn’t so much as glance at him.

“Please get off the platform. This is a job for professionals.”

“You’ll never make it on time. I can get through the hole; please let me help.”

The turbine on the other side sways from the impact of a freighter landing on the ships’ hull; Tabbers lets out a whine.

The second rescue worker, wearing a helmet that unpleasantly reminds Cal of the clones, hisses in a sonorous tone.

“Get off the platform!”

He lifts his hand and waves it to remove Cal from the grid. The pressure inside Cal rises; he’s got to do something; there isn’t enough time...

“Can’t you see the kid’s right?” Prauf has moved closer to the platform and yells with his hands formed to a cone by his mouth. “He’s small enough to fit in through the hole; let him in!”

The rescue worker hesitates. With a forceful exhale, he curses.

“Ok. Get in there, but I’m not responsible for what happens once you’re inside the turbine hall.”

Cal rushes forward and squeezes through the hole. The cut metal bites into his shirt; a rip tells him he’s ruined the sleeve, but he doesn’t care. On the other side, he sweeps his gaze around and assesses the situation.

There! The tube that runs over to the turbines, he can easily get to Tabbers if he reaches it. Cal prepares for the jump when screech of metal cuts through the air. The turbine ring slides from its hinges and wobbles. Tabbers screams in panic.

With a bounce, the rusty hinges break. The broken turbine falls.

Cal gasps, frozen to the spot. The crowd behind him lets out horrified yelps.

With a clang, the round metal ring clamps between the ship's hull and a rusty metal railing. Tabbers holds on for dear life, his forehead shines from cold sweat.

“Help me!”

“Hold on!”

Cal lifts his gaze. He needs another plan, fast.

His eyes widen. If he can climb along the grid and reach the narrow ledge on the other side, he can eke his way to Tabbers and help him back!

Cal jumps and grabs the grid. The oily metal is cool against his hands. He scurries along the wall of metal holes and ridges when a great squeak echoes through the turbine hall.

“Cal!”

It’s Prauf. He shouts a warning. Cal’s heart jumps when the studs of the grid spring lose and shoots from their fastening in the frame. The grid peels from the wall like a sweesonberry roll. Cal’s stomach flips; he holds on to the grid hard enough for his fingers to go numb.

He groans when the grid stops. He’s facing Tabbers, staring at him merely a few meters away with tears in his eyes.

“I don’t want to die,” Tabbers says thickly, “please, I don’t want to die.”

Breathing hard, Cal shifts to get a better grip on the grid. Tabbers is a kid, like himself. A few years older, but he hasn’t been on Bracca as long as Cal.

The words form in his mind.

_Everything's going to be okay. Jump and take my hand; we’ll make it, I promise._

No sound leaves his lips.

Before he crashed on this planet, Cal had the ability to save Tabbers. He was a Jedi padawan, trained to use the Force to help people. It would have been so easy to use the Force to pull Tabbers to him and climb their way back to the others, but Cal can’t use the Force; he’ll be sent to the Empire and killed like the rest of the padawans. Like all the Jedi.

“Cal!”

Prauf shouts from the platform above.

“You can do it! Grab the line to your left! Don’t give up!”

Cal opens his eyes. There is a line to the left!

He takes a few controlled breaths. He may not have the Force, but he was a good scrapper. He climbed walls and beams faster than anyone in the guild.

It was not over yet.

Cal swings his body and jumps. He catches the line and slides forward; it’s slippery as a Mon Calamari eel. Without his gloves, the Lexoplast would have cut through his palms. Further down, he stops and reaches out.

“Tabbers! Take my hand!”

Tabbers hyperventilates. His eyes are large and round.

“I - I can’t!”

“Yes, you can!”

The ring of the former turbine slides forward with a sharp whine.

“Hurry! Jump!”

Tabbers lets out a cry and jumps. Cal catches him and locks his hand around Tabbers arm. With a yank that has him gritting his teeth, he lifts Tabbers to grab hold of the line. Before them, the ring jerks against the hull and tumbles down in a crash and a bang towards the ship's underbelly.

“I’m getting out of here,” Tabbers mumbles with clattering teeth from the shock, “I’m not staying on this trash heap a day longer.”

“Where will you go?” Cal inches forward to encourage Tabbers to climb the bent grid. Above, the rescue team has singed through the metal and are pushing the platform through.

“I don’t care.” Tabbers shakes. “Anywhere but here. Even Nar Shaddaa.”

Cal has never heard of Nar Shaddaa. He hm's.

A moment later, Prauf pats him on the back with a proud grin and guides him through the cheering crowd while Tabbers is taken care of by the rescue team.

“I knew you could do it!” Prauf’s sideburns bounce with his joyous gate. “You’re one hell of a kid, Cal!”

Cal smiles. He’s full of adrenaline and relief, but a curious lump of sorrow has wedged in his throat. Saving Tabbers was a victory, yet it served as a reminder of everyone Cal’s lost, of the one he failed to save.

He should leave Bracca, like Tabbers. But where could he go that wasn’t taken by the Empire? Whom could he trust?

He glances at Prauf.

No, he needs to stay here. He has a friend. Although the work they do is hazardous and serves the system that killed everyone he cared for, it's better than being hunted--right?

Cal swallows. The lump in his throat remains and threatens to expose the weight in his heart. He wipes his forehead with his torn sleeve to hide the tears that spring forth in the corners of his eyes.


End file.
